Without

By CinnamonGrrl

Part 1

You could get anything in New York City.

Anything you wanted, any time of the day or night, and if you were a decent haggler, you might even get it at a reasonable price, too. There were always risks, though—more often than not, what you were getting “fell off the back of a truck” rather than came to you through more reputable channels. But if you want it badly enough, methods don’t really matter, do they?

Not if you want it badly enough.

Some people had the most curious fetishes. Many were of a sexual nature, of course, humanity being the perverse and perverted creature it is. You’ve only to visit Christopher Street over in the Village to see that first-hand. Others were more about wealth, and the power it brings—the possessors of those fetishes spent their time downtown. Yet more were about social image and appearance, and the power brought by them—Uptown and Garment District folk, respectively.

Then there were the real freaks, like Corinne. Her fetish was so weird you could hardly pronounce it. Yes, you could get anything in the Big Apple, and thank God for it, too, she thought as she pushed open the shop door. The tarnished brass bell hanging from a bracket over the filthy glass door clanged in the silence of the establishment, jarring her already-frazzled nerves.

Blinking at the change from brilliant sunlight outside to dim, dingy, and dusty within, Corinne scanned the store. It seemed to have been there a very long time, with its ancient, scarred flooring and age-blackened wooden counter at the opposite side of the shop. Upon it a primitive-looking cash register squatted beside a mountain of what appeared, at first glance, to be rather priceless medieval illuminations.

Corinne spotted an old leather chair to one side. On it was a box heaped with Etruscan potsherds, and she gingerly placed it on the floor (once she’d located a space free of rusting Crusader swords and hillocks of pilgrimage badges) before perching on the edge of it, eagerly waiting for someone to heed the call of the door-bell and come attend their latest customer.

Finally someone appeared, his arrival heralded first by his uneven footsteps and second by his grouchy muttering.

“How in the ruddy HELL am I supposed to get anything DONE when there’s always someone BOTHERING me?” The old man’s English voice rose and fell in tone and pitch like waves rolling on the ocean, and Corinne leapt to her feet, ignoring her slight lurch of seasickness.

“Hello,” she began in what she thought of as her ‘professional’ voice. “I’m Corinne Williams. Professor Ives from NYU called ahead and told you I would be coming?”

The old man peered suspicious over the wire rims of his spectacles. “Professor IVES, hm?” He turned his back on her and pulled open a card-file drawer behind him, rifling speedily through its contents with a frown of deep concentration (and disgruntlement) until finding what he sought. Holding the card aloft, he read aloud. “The CARTOUCHE of Weshem-IB.” Facing her, he peered closely at Corinne. “Are you QUITE sure you’re PREPARED to work with a TALISMAN such as this one?”

She wasn’t sure sure, but she was mostly sure, and gave him a confident nod of her head. “I am.”

He snorted skeptically, but nonetheless stumped over to the massive apothecary shelving that covered one entire wall. “Do you HAVE the proper INCANTATION?” he called to her over his shoulder while he propped a battered wooden ladder in the proper place and began to climb.

“Professor Ives says I don’t need it,” Corinne replied, frowning at his rusty and rather evil-sounding laughter. “I’m not planning on using it, only studying it.”

“Ives is a fool,” the old man informed her. “If I didn’t think so before, I know it now.” He began muttering again. “Sending one of his STUDENTS to my shop, and for a thing of such POWER… the man is a DISGRACE… she probably wants it to meet her TRUE LOVE, scandalous, simply SCANDALOUS…”

Corinne felt a righteous anger fill her. “Excuse me,” she snapped. “Standing right here, you know. Standing right exactly here, and hearing everything you say.”

The old man located the drawer he wanted and pulled open the little drawer before delving his hand within. His face was supremely disinterested in her tirade as he removed something gleaming, pocketing it somewhere in his baggy brown cardigan before commencing the ponderous descent down the ladder.

Once on the ground again, he pushed the ladder to one side (uncaring when it jostled into a mountain of Peloponnesian spear-heads, causing them to cascade with a crash over the floor) and retreated behind his old cash register. “Then what do you WANT it for?” he asked snidely. “Do you THINK you’re the first young WOMAN I’ve seen in here? They all COME for the same thing.”

Corinne frowned in confusion. “They all come here for the Weshem-ib?” She looked at the object in his age-spotted hand; it was a long, flat, slender column of deep, gleaming gold; along with the familiar Egyptian glyphs engraved on it was a prominent, deeply-carved two-headed lion. Aker, she thought in recognition.

He shot her a sour look over his spectacles as he rang up the sale on the cash register. “No, idiot girl. They come for WHATEVER it is they think will COMPLETE them. The Weshem-IB is how they FIND it.” He eyed her keenly. “For you, it’ll be true LOVE. Mark my words.”

Corinne drew herself up haughtily. “I am definitely not here for that,” she informed him, as if the word tasted bad. ”I want the cartouche because I’m a student of socio-anthropology, and my dissertation is on ancient Egyptian mysticism. I’m not going to actually use it, just study it. It will be the focal point of my thesis.” She finished up this little speech with a proud little nod, satisfied she’d put him in his place. She did so hate to be misunderstood.

He couldn’t possibly have been less impressed. “I’ll expect it back in my SHOP within a year,” he told her calmly, holding up a small, jewel-encrusted dagger, and held out his hand for his payment. Professor Ives had told her about the terms of purchase. Mere money suffice—for an artifact of this age and meaning, nothing short of blood would do. Let no one say I’m not committed to my studies, she thought, and placed her own hand in his.

His skin was dry and papery, like a snake’s, and she couldn’t repress a shudder at his touch. With practiced and efficient motions he brought the dagger to her wrist. There was a flash like fire streaking across her skin, and then searing agony as the old man nearly severed her hand from her arm. Blood spilled over the cartouche and ran in rivulets over the scarred counter until it began to pool on the floor, and spots began to dance in Corinne’s vision. She struggled to free herself, but his grip on her arm was inexorable. She swayed on her feet, and just as she thought she could not stand any longer, he gestured with the dagger a second time.

In an instant, the pain was gone, and she glanced down to see that the gaping wound in her wrist was completely healed, as if it had never been there at all. There was no mark whatsoever. That was amazing in itself, but Corinne didn’t have time to goggle over it because the cartouche had begun soaking up her blood. And not just the blood on the counter, either; any that had spilled over the side and onto the floor was now flowing, against the laws of physics and rules of gravity, in an uphill vermilion stream as if magnetized toward the intricately worked piece of gold.

I didn’t think gold could do that, she thought dazedly, and wondered if the floor were as comfortable as it looked. She dearly wanted to lay down on it, and rest her hot face against its cool surface.

Finally, all the blood had been absorbed into the cartouche. There was nothing to indicate that anything unusual had just taken place, except for the faint throbbing in Corinne’s brain, a reminder of the pain and blood loss. “Why will you expect it back in a year?” she asked at last, recalling his last comment.

“It always RETURNS after it’s been used.” He seemed to think of something then, something that greatly cheered him, because he smiled. It was very unnerving. “Of course, those who USE it don’t always return, but the CARTOUCHE always does…”

Corinne felt a frisson of unease scamper down her spine. Perhaps she ought to study it more before using it? Yes, that would be best. “I told you already, I’m not going to use it.” He was really beginning to get on her nerves, but now she was curious. “How long has it been returning to you?”

He wrapped the cartouche in a length of creamy linen, smirking all the while. The effect was just as unnerving as his smile had been. “About 1300 years now,” he informed her, then laughed at her expression. “Idiot girl. Do you honestly THINK that magic is only a superstition, SOMETHING for dried-up scholars to study a few millennia AFTER its heyday?”

That’s exactly what Corinne had thought. This is insane, she told herself. There’s no way this old guy is that old, and there’s no way this thing— she looked down at the brown paper-wrapped packet in her hand— can magically return.

The old man was watching her, great knowledge and understanding in his eyes. “You’ll LEARN the truth,” he told her, and made a shooing motion with his hands. “You’ll see WHAT I mean.” And he turned to go back from whence he’d come, muttering once more. “They never listen, the YOUNG people. Always thinking they’re right, that they KNOW everything. Well, this one’s got quite the surprise in STORE for her, quite a surprise indeed. She’ll LEARN, oh yes, she’ll learn.”

Feeling seasick once more, Corinne clutched her precious bundle tightly and fled back into the bright June sunlight.

One week later

Corinne lurched into her tiny dorm room after her night out with the girls. It was an occasional thing they’d done for the past three years, a haphazard socializing since they had no time in their busy lives for the distraction of boyfriends.

They’d been discussing their various dissertations, totally absorbed with their studies—and then the door of the SoHo tavern had opened, and a couple entered. It was raining outside, and they were breathless from running to escape getting wet. The man held a folded newspaper over the woman’s head, and when she turned her laughing face up to his, he leant down to give her a kiss. It was a private moment, an intimate moment, and when she’d seen the woman’s lashes flutter closed in pleasure Corinne had felt a pang of… something. A sense of longing.

A low hum caught her attention then, and she glanced down into her pocketbook on the floor to see a strange glow emanating from it. Picking up the bag, she shoved aside her wallet and cosmetics pouch to see the cartouche lying at the bottom of its depths. It was glowing softly with a reddish light, and seemed to be vibrating gently.

I left this in my dorm, she thought, confused. But then the fifth round of drinks arrived, with much noisy welcome by her companions, and she gladly raised her drink to her lips as her friends smiled.

She’d been a little subdued the remainder of the evening, and only too happy to go home. Once inside, however, she remembered the cartouche and rifled through her pocketbook for it. “Where the hell is it?” she grumbled, and losing patience just overturned the bag on her bed. A warm glow beckoned her, and she pushed the usual female detritus out of the way to reveal it in all its ethereal glory.

Weird, she thought, and reaching for it. The moment she picked it up, the glow became brighter and brighter until her schnapps-soaked brain protested and she closed her eyes against the fierce glare. Then she felt herself falling, but before she could do anything like flail or scream she’d landed with a thud right on her ass.

***

“In truth, I worry about our brother, Orophin,” Rúmil said as he lounged against the base of the mallorn which housed their talan, idly sharpening the blade of one of his daggers. “He is even more out of sorts than usual.”

Orophin glanced up from his task of fletching arrows and arched a slender golden brow. “How can you tell?” he asked dryly.

Rúmil grinned briefly, then sobered. ‘He has become even more withdrawn than usual, Oro. When was the last time he actually volunteered to patrol the eastern marches by the Anduin?”

The other elf nodded in comprehension. “Think you it has aught to do with your betrothal?” For Rúmil was newly affianced, just a month now.

“Our brother Haldir?” Rúmil snorted skeptically before falling about laughing.

“Is there another that Naneth and Ada failed to tell us about?” Orophin asked mildly. “It is not that funny.”

“Indeed it is, Oro,” Rúmil insisted, gasping. “Stern, dour Haldir pining with jealousy that I have found a lady-love, and he has not?” He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. “Indeed, the idea is ludicrous.”

”I could not agree more,” said a stern, dour voice from the trees behind them, and Haldir himself stepped from them to survey his younger brothers with a combination of amusement and exasperation. “If I feel aught about your betrothal, Rúmil, it is pity for your future wife, having to endure such a silly creature such as yourself.”

Rúmil frowned at Haldir, then frowned at Orophin, who’d begun laughing. “ ’M Not a silly creature,” he mumbled with a pout.

“Of course you are, melui-nîn,” said a feminine voice, and an elleth glided into the clearing, making straight for the youngest elf. She was rather perfectly average for female elf, with the exception of the deep love glowing on her face. As she approached Rúmil, it was as if there were no other living beings on Middle-Earth, save her and him. Tatharë she was called, and had come a year before from Mirkwood as a sort of diplomat between the two elven realms. In spite of her innate seriousness, it had not taken long for Rúmil to fall in love with her. Longer she had needed to return his feelings, but now that she did, there was no doubting her devotion to him. “But that is why I adore you so.”

Rúmil brightened and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her honey-gold hair. “Then I shall be silly with pride,” he announced, and Tatharë bestowed upon him one of her tiny, mysterious smiles before turning to Haldir.

“Glad we are of your safe return,” she said by way of welcome. “Will you join us for luncheon?”

Haldir had wanted only to dart to his talan, get a new supply of clean clothing and fresh food and dart back to his post, but seeing the expressions on all their faces he was slightly guilty. They had missed him, his brothers, and as they looked at him expectantly he felt his resolve crumble. “Yes,” he found himself saying. “I will join you.”

Still, he was relieved when the meal was over and he could snatch up his supplies and leave once more. He had been feeling restless lately, and could scarcely bear to be in Caras Galadhon. It was too enclosed, and there were too many elves about, crowding him. He travelled quickly from the city to his post, reaching it within a single day.

From his watch-flet on the banks of the mighty Anduin, on the easternmost border of the Lórien woods, he could stare across at the plains of Rhovanion and the southwestern tip of Mirkwood, now called East Lórien since the War of the Ring, and part of the realm of Celeborn and Galadriel. If he squinted, he could make out the dark silhouette of Dol Guldor in the distance. He would see these places, and he would feel a craving to explore them.

Sometimes the impulse became such that only his centuries of discipline and duty kept him at his post. Whence came this restlessness? He did not think, as Orophin did, that it had anything to do with Rúmil finding love. No, Haldir had given up on that possibility. It might be the fate of his youngest brother, and he doubted not that Orophin too would find a mate in his own time, but for himself…

Haldir had long ago resigned himself to a life alone. He was Guardian of Lórien, destined to be its protector to his dying day. He would not be accompanying his people to the Undying Lands, and that meant a definite reduction in the pool of young lovelies willing to bind their lives and souls with him, for none wanted to remain behind when all others had departed.

Legolas had once told him that there were elleths who would be willing to stay here in Arda with him, but… Haldir sighed. He had seen the passion Legolas had with his wife, Haldir’s own former lover, Dagnir—the Slayer. Or Buffy, as she was known to her closer friends. He had seen that love, and wanted one like it for his own. He would not settle for just any elleth, who wanted him simply because he was a march-warden, or the Guardian, or Celeborn’s lieutenant.

He wanted an elleth to love him because he was Haldir.

He leaned his head back against the smooth bark of the mallorn and for a moment remembered Tatharë’s face shining up at Rúmil, and felt a pang of—something. Not jealousy, exactly, but something definitely tainted his joy at his brother’s good fortune. A sense of longing…

No sooner had he completed the thought then there was a flash of light and a crash of noise. He might have thought he’d been struck by lightning, except it was a particularly fine day with no sign of storm in the clear, cloudless sky. All was as it should be, perfectly normal.

So why was there a human female sitting on the floor of his watch-flet, dressed oddly and staring up at him in unadulterated horror?

Part 2

Opening her eyes again, willing her inebriation away, she looked up to see a tall blond guy glowering down at her. “No more sex on the beach,” Corinne muttered, blinking up at him. She liked her stupidly named cocktails as much as the next grad student, it was true, but surely a mere half-dozen of them could not have caused a delusion of this magnitude.

Surely?

She shook her head, trying to clear it from the obvious hallucination she was having. Nope, he was still there, and now he was aiming a bow at her. This was going from bad to worse. She scrambled to her knees, wincing at the knowledge that her taupe linen capris were being irreparably damaged, and held up her hands to show they were empty.

Except they weren’t. For clutched in her left hand was none other than the Cartouche of Weshem-ib, and it was back to glowing softly as it had before going supernova on her. The man before her stared at it.

“Is this a weapon?” he asked, his English strangely accented, his eyes flicking back and forth between it and her. They were a stormy, dark grey, and she felt like a butterfly on a pin as he peered at her.

“Uh,” she began stupidly. “I don’t think so. It’s not supposed to be.” Then, as he reached out to take it from her, she screeched, “No! Don’t touch it!” She jumped to her feet and stepped back from him. If he took it, how would she get back to New York?

He reached out to her again, dropping his bow and arrow heedlessly as alarm spread over his face— his very handsome face, she realized irrelevantly—and Corinne understood why when her right foot took another step backward and met with no resistance. Just as panic began to fill her, he grabbed her still-outstretched wrists and hauled her against his unyielding chest.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” he demanded, and she struggled to twist her head from where it was buried against his shoulder to look around her.

“Oh,” she same lamely, for it would appear they were in some sort of treehouse, and rather high off the ground. And also that she had nearly stepped right off of it. Wiggling, she craned her head to peep over the treehouse’s edge and saw it was a very long way down. “Oh,” she said again, and looked up at him.

It was a mistake, because her senses, already burdened from the bright light and crashing boom of the transfer-of-reality, and then by almost falling and being snatched by a weird guy, were assailed with stimulation to yet another sense. He smelled extraordinary, like summer grass and fallen leaves and honey, and she breathed it in so deeply her head swam.

It simply had to be the vodka talking, because she did not normally think this way. In ordinary circumstances, she couldn’t be bothered with men on a personal or sexual basis. “No more sex on the beach,” she repeated firmly.

“That is the second time you have mentioned it. Is sex on the beach a frequent habit of yours?” he inquired, staring at her once more. His eyes were the colour of pewter, she thought hazily as she stared back.

He was considerably taller than she, and looking up at him from this proximity brought her gaze directly in line with his ear. It was delicately pointed at the tip, she noted with interest, but what really captured her attention was the earlobe. It was a tender, pale pink, with a silvery down that positively beckoned to her…

Before she realized what it was she did, she stood on tiptoes and captured that earlobe between her lips, drawing it into her mouth to suckle it gently. He gave a dreadful moan as if he were being murdered, and released one of her wrists to cup the back of her head, preventing her from moving away from him even if she’d wanted to.

Corinne used her free hand to reach up and trace the intriguing point of his ear, and he moaned again, releasing her other wrist to wrap his arm around her waist and press her even more firmly against him. At this rate we’re going to merge bodies, she thought dazedly, and then felt her face blush violently at where that line of thought took her… the blushing didn’t prevent her from releasing his earlobe to flick her tongue a little higher, traveling closer to the point.

Against her, she could feel rather than see his breathing become ragged, and felt a queer tightening in her chest at his strong body pressed to her soft one. She wanted nothing so much as to sink to the floor of the treehouse and have him cover her with himself, to surround him utterly with all that she was. Ah, so this is desire. Wondered what that was like.

“I want you,” Corinne whispered, the words leaping from her mouth without any interference from her brain whatsoever. “Make love to me.” Her empty hand wound around his neck, twining them even more closely.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice low and thrilling, and his hand buried in her hair held her still for the coming onslaught of his kiss. She gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and waited for the first electric touch of lips upon lips, but it never came.

What was this madness? Haldir demanded of himself as he stepped closer to the centre of the flet and thrust her away. Elves did not join lightly, and when it happened it was usually a binding of souls, a marriage. He had shared his body with less than a handful of others in all his thousands of years, and never had he been in love.

And yet he’d been entirely too close to flinging this female—this mortal, human female—to the floor and ravishing her like a rabid orc. He ran his hand in agitation over the crown of his head, the familiar smooth locks of hair calming him as he stared at her.

She stood there trembling like a deer in the sights of a hunter, watching him warily even as she breathed shallowly. Her peaked nipples were clearly visible against the nearly-transparent white fabric of her short tunic, and he fought hard to suppress another moan from surfacing.

I will fight this weakness, he informed himself coldly, and jumped a little when she replied, “When you figure out how, tell me, ok?

Haldir’s eyes narrowed. I did not say that aloud, he thought.

“Yeah, you did,” she replied crossly, wrapping her arms around herself as if cold. The action only served to push together and up her generously-proportioned bosom and he once more felt the dizzying tide of lust begin to overtake him.

“What have you done to me?” he groaned, staggering to the trunk of the mallorn and leaning heavily against it. “What is that thing you carry, that it has such power?”

She looked down at it in amazement, as if only just remembering she held it. “It’s called the Cartouche of Weshem-ib,” she replied, falling back into grad-student mode and beginning to lecture. “In the language of Kemet, it means “Yearning of the Heart’. It was created by the command of Hatshepsut, during the 18th dynasty. Her fascination with mysticism is well-known, and—“

Corinne was cut off by an agitated motion of his hand. “I know nothing of which you speak,” he told her.

“If you would be so kind as to not interrupt me,” she sniffed, “I was coming to the good part.” He looked distinctly skeptical, which she ignored. “As I was saying, her fascination with mysticism is well-known. She commissioned many pieces of art that also served as magical talismans and devices. This,” she held it up so he could see, “was one of them.”

“Almost as well-known as her interest in the occult was her deep unhappiness,” Corinne continued. “She was the ruler of a great land, but still miserable. She had this cartouche created to fulfill her fondest wish and deepest desire.”

“And did it?” Against his will, Haldir found himself interested in this Hatshepsut.

Corinne shrugged. “Impossible to know what her deepest desire was. But this thing is supposed to do the same thing for anyone who activates it.”

“How did you activate it?” he wanted to know, folding his arms across his chest sternly.

“I didn’t!” she wailed. “Didn’t do a damned thing! It just started glowing.”

“You had to have done something,” he insisted. “Think, woman! What did you say before it began to glow?”

“Didn’t say anything,” she replied angrily.

“Well, what were you thinking, then?” He really was beginning to lose the patience for which he was famed.

She frowned in concentration. “Well, I—.“ She halted suddenly as it came back to her. The breathless couple, the newspaper, the kiss. “Oh.”

His extraordinary eyes narrowed threateningly. “Tell me,” he commanded.

“Um, it’s really nothing,” she said nervously, for some reason reluctant and more than a little embarrassed to reveal it to him. If she were to accept what was glaringly obvious, it would seem that ‘Cartouche of Weshem-ib’ plus ‘moment of wistfulness for love’ equaled ‘plummeting through thin air to plop on her butt in front of a pointy-eared studmuffin who she then snogged with abandon’.

She stared in consternation down at the cartouche, glaring at the two-headed lion that represented the god Aker. He was also known as ‘Yesterday and Today’, and embodied the concept of where past met present, and present met future. Then she recalled something else, and slapped her forehead in the universal gesture of ‘I am incredibly stupid’. Aker had a third name as well.

The Bender of Reality.

The old shopkeeper’s voice rang like a gong through her aching head: “probably wants it to meet her TRUE LOVE”. She glanced at the angry face and threatening stance of the man in front of her and covered her own face with her hands. “No,” she murmured. “Please, no. This is too weird even for me.”

He strode to her and grasped her arms, giving her a little shake. “You will tell me.”

Corinne stared hard at the strong ivory column of his throat, and forced herself to speak. “I was watching a man and a woman kiss. They seemed very much in love, and… I wanted that,” she told him softly.

He flung her from him in horror. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know… I mean, I haven’t ever really thought about love before. Usually I’m obsessed with people who’ve been dead for thousands of years!” She dared a glance at him and saw that along with his fury, there was in his eyes a hint of recognition and… guilt? Now it was her turn to narrow her eyes at him.

“Professor Ives told me that the cartouche rarely works with just one person, that the energy of another is needed to activate it,” she said accusingly. “So tell me, Tall Blond and Grouchy, what were you thinking about just before I appeared?” Definitely guilt, she decided when a pale pink flush stained his high cheekbones. “You were thinking the same thing, weren’t you?”

He turned his head and stared off into the distance. Corinne took that as a typical man’s “yes, but I refuse to admit it”, and rolled her eyes. She thought for a moment. Didn’t know where she was, who he was, or even his name. He seemed to have a surly temper, and was a bit too free with the manhandling, but… she’d been drawn to him from the moment she’d clapped eyes on him, and judging by the way she’d molested his ear earlier, they had chemistry galore. It also didn’t hurt that there was some sort of magic bond between them, one which had caused her to fall through some wacky portal in time and space to meet him.

She went to him, put her hand on his cheek and forcibly turned him to face her. “What’s your name?” she asked him.

He stared down at her a long moment before answering. “I am Haldir of Lórien.”

“Where is Lórien?”

He laughed briefly. It was musical and enchanting, for all that it was meant to be a sardonic bark rather than an expression of mirth. “You stand at the edge of it, in one of its mighty trees,” he informed her. “It is the Golden Wood, and I am its Guardian.”

“I’m Corinne… of New York,” she told him, and frowned when he laughed again. “What?”

“In my language, ‘coron’ means globe, or mound.” Haldir’s gaze dropped to her chest. “It is fitting.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping to shield them from his view. He only smirked. God, men were all alike, no matter what country they were from. Speaking of which, where the hell were they? “So you can speak English, but with an accent,” she said, trying to solve the mystery. “You’re blond, so I figure we’re in Scandinavia somewhere.” He looked utterly blank. “Or Russia?” Nope, no flicker of recognition at that either. She sighed. “Ok, so what country are we in?”

He frowned. “Corinne, I have told you. We are in Lórien.”

Frustrated, she flung up her hands. “But where is Lórien?”

Haldir looked wary, as if unsure of what she wanted to know. “West of the Anduin,” he said cautiously, pointing to the river not far from them, glittering like a wide silver ribbon a few hundred yards away. “And east of the mountains.”

Corinne had never heard of the Anduin, but geography had never been her strong suit. “Which mountains?”

“The Misty Mountains,” he replied, marveling at her lack of comprehension and wondering if she’d lived in a Hobbit hole her entire life, to have never heard of Arda’s greatest range.

“Let’s try another approach,” she said tiredly, rubbing her forehead. “Which continent am I on?”

“Continent?” He was beginning to think she was mad. “There are only the two, Arda and Valinor, and mortals are not permitted on the latter,”

“Mortals?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “As opposed to what alternative?”

“As opposed to elves, of course,” he told her, as if he were speaking to a particularly slow child.

She snorted in frank disbelief. “Yeah,” she said. “Elves. Next you’re going to tell me there’s dwarves, and werewolves and wizards and gnomes and—“ Her words choked off as he gazed steadily at her and she remembered the distinct feel of a pointed ear against her tongue. “Oh, god,” she moaned. “Elves.”

He only smirked. “Welcome to Arda, Corinne.” However, his smirk faded when she fell, senseless, to the floor of the flet.

With a muffled curse, Haldir caught her. Clasping her tightly against him with one arm, he used the other to spread out a blanket and lower her down. Looming over her, he jammed his hands on his hips and frowned as fiercely as he knew how. In spite of the last few moments’ distraction, his mind was still whirling over the implications of what she’d told him.

It was not that he believed it impossible for a person to tumble through the air, from one world to the next. After all, had not Buffy come to Arda in the same manner, just decades ago? The Valar will have their little jokes, he thought sourly. No, it was more the reason for Corinne’s travel. Buffy had a destiny, and the personal involvement of the gods directing what happened to her. With Corinne, it all seemed… random.

Or was it? Amazingly, in spite of her bizarre ramblings, he believed her. Haldir knew himself to be a master of self-containment; no one knew anything of him that he did not wish them to. There was no one on the face of Arda who could have blindly guessed that he’d indulged in a rare moment of sentimental pining. No, there was much more to this situation than mere lunacy.

His reaction to her, for instance. Never had Haldir felt such an instantaneous, searing desire—not even in his earliest centuries when neither skill nor control had been his fortés. After he passed his first millennia, he’d thought those pleasantly lusty times far behind him. Oh, but how he’d been mistaken… even now, as she stirred to consciousness once more, he felt a jolt of awareness ripple through him, arousing him.

It wasn’t that she was beautiful. She was barely even pretty, and her human body was not at all elfin—where his kin were tall and slender and pale, she was short and plump and ruddy. Perhaps it was that opposition to what he was accustomed to that attracted him. Yes, surely that was it. Satisfied with his tidy explanation, he sat easily and folded his legs, waiting for her to come back to herself.

“No more sex on the beach,” Corinne was saying for the third time as she shoved a handful of messy hair off her forehead. “I sweartagod, I’m never drinking again.”

Confusion eased from Haldir’s ivory brow. “Ah, so sex on the beach is not actually sex on the beach, but a type of… ale?” he ventured even as his unruly mind began conjuring up images of the two of them laying on the sun-warmed sand, her legs wrapped around his waist as water and pleasure crashed over them. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts, but could not prevent a tiny grin when he noticed her vacant expression… she too was picturing something imprudent.

“You’ve… got a bit of drool, just there,” he teased, pointing to the corner of her mouth and grinning when she blushed and tried to duck her head in embarrassment. His fingertip hovered just a fraction of an inch over the pink satin of her lips, feeling the faint warmth and some odd tingle of awareness crackle between them. Unbidden, completely against his will, he reached closer just as she leaned toward him. The rough pad of his finger caressed those plush lips until they parted and took it between them, teeth lightly gripping it as tongue flicked at the very end.

They both moaned then, and this time it was Haldir who acted first—he grabbed around her waist with his free arm and hauled her into his lap. He withdrew his finger from her mouth and cupped her face, staring at her a long, breathless moment. Her skin was olive-toned, with arching dark brows over green eyes, a tilted nose, and stubborn-looking chin. There was a faintly nearsighted look to her gaze, as if she spent far too much time squinting at small text in thick books, and she had a small scar on her jaw line below her ear, very faint.

“What is this madness, that I cannot resist?” Haldir growled, pressing his lips to the scar, but he didn’t allow an answer, for he captured her in a kiss so searing he was positive their mouths would fuse. It was a very gratifying kiss, this, because she did not play the shy maiden like a younger elleth, nor did she try to taunt and tempt him with guile and craft as an older would have done.

Instead, Corinne kissed him back with an honest enthusiasm that touched him even as it aroused him. She honestly, genuinely wanted him. She knew nothing about his position as third in command of Lothlorien. She cared nothing of his family, his wealth, or the fact that it would be quite a coup for a human to bed an elf—especially the haughty March-Warden who had for years been perceived as a considerable challenge to many an elleth of Caras Galadhon and beyond.

She knew not his brothers, or any of his history, nor even of his duty to remain as Guardian of the Wood until its end, and still she wanted him. If she spoke truly, she had come from very far away for only a single reason: true love. The knowledge sent a quiver of something deeper than mere physical hunger through him, and he found his embrace gentling around her.

Part 3

“Softly,” he murmured against her mouth, nipping with sharp white teeth at her lower lip. “There is no rush, doll-nîn.”

The scholar in Corinne was awakened by the foreign words and would not be subdued. “What did you just say?” she asked, and the glow of desire on her face vied for pride of place with a glow of another type: the thirst for knowledge. She realized, just now, that if Haldir really were an elf, he was a member of a civilization heretofore unknown to mankind. The idea that she would be the first to study it made her head spin. “What language was that? What do you call yourselves? Is yours a literate society, or do you pass on your history by word? Or even song?”

She was firing the questions at him so rapidly that he felt dizzy, and not a little disappointed that she was so easily distracted from their love-play. Haldir arched a dark gold brow at her. “Are you more interested in my people, or me?” he asked, mostly joking.

Corinne knew there was a thread of seriousness in his question. For some reason, her answer would matter very much. “Who are you, but the result of your upbringing?” she asked carefully. “To understand you, I have to understand your people.”

It was apparently the correct response, because his smile as he put her off his lap and stood nearly blinded her. “I will tell you all you wish to know,” he promised. “I will even bring you to the city to meet the others. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” Somehow, that sounded… ominous. What was he going to do with her until then? Another series of explicit images jogged past her mental viewscreen and she found herself gaping stupidly at him once more while he laughed at her.

“You’re drooling again,” Haldir informed her smugly, and hauled her to her feet. “Is it the beach again?” She could only nod mutely. “I am enjoying that one, as well. But perhaps we should improve upon it.”

“Impossible,” she breathed as she looked up at him, unaware that the rising moon reflected in her eyes and fascinated him. All she could see was him, silhouetted against the rippling peach and lavender of the setting sun. She could almost hear the cry of the gulls and smell the sea salt. “Impossible.”

Haldir only smirked at her, very slowly. “Naught is impossible, Corinne,” he informed her. “Your presence here is proof of that.”

“I admit, it’s weird when a person falls out of the sky—“ she began, but he interrupted.

“Not how you came to be here, Coron, but the fact that you are here at all.” His dignity prevented him from saying more, but she understood.

“That we were able to find each other, from so far away,” she said softly, and he nodded briefly even as he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. He was a proud man—elf, she corrected herself—and this could not be easy for him. And, after all, the whole thing was perfectly ludicrous. So why did she feel like she could flap her arms and fly, she felt so light and happy? She watched as he glanced almost shyly at her, gauging her reaction to what-he-had-not-said, and felt a constriction in her chest, in the area of her heart.

I guess the grumpy old guy in the store was right, she thought with surprising cheerfulness. Ordinarily she would have been quite put out at being proven wrong, but she found that she couldn’t really think of anything besides Haldir, how close he was, and—oh lordamighty—how he smelled. She needed to know how it was he smelled that way. Perhaps it was the soap he used…

“Wanna take a bath together?” she asked, trailing a finger along the decorative stitching of his uniform.

“Yes,” he replied immediately, reaching for her, but before he could an unwelcome voice intruded.

“I am here to relieve you, Haldir!” exclaimed Faltho as he arrived for his watch, seeming oblivious to the romantic tension on the flet, and utterly unsurprised to find a human female in his fellow march-warden’s arms. “Greetings,” he said brightly to Corinne. “Mae govannen.”

She recognized it for the greeting it was, and tried hard to repeat it to him, imitating the inflections he had used. Haldir raised his brows, impressed, at how accurate her imitation of the Sindarin had been. “I’m pretty good at learning languages,” she said with a little blush. “Will you teach me yours?”

“Amoung other things,” he promised her, and enjoyed the deepening colour on her cheeks.

Haldir brought Corinne to his own flet there on the Eastern Marches of Lothlórien. He had only been in that post for a few weeks, so it wasn’t very homey—just a hastily-made bed in the corner, two chairs around a small table, clothes hung neatly on pegs on the wall, a few books here and there. Still, she had the feeling that even had he occupied the little treehouse for a lifetime it wouldn’t have held much more. He was a man—elf, she reminded herself—who did not allow his life to be cluttered.

There was a singular purpose to everything about him, she saw. He devoted himself entirely to his task at hand, whether it be guarding a stretch of land or explaining about the trees around them, as he had done during their walk from his post to his home, or preparing a meal, as he now did. And yet, even as he concentrated on his cooking, she knew he was exquisitely aware, and not only of her, but of their surroundings in general. She had a feeling a squirrel could sneeze a mile away and he’d say, “bless you”. Or whatever the elven equivalent of that was.

Elven… she sat on a rock beside the campfire and drew her knees to up, wrapping her arms around and resting her chin on them as she watched him. His movements were economical, but supremely graceful. After meeting Faltho, she knew that Haldor’s beauty wasn’t atypical of his people—unless both elves were especially handsome—but if she were honest she’d have to admit that Faltho was the better-looking. Haldir’s nose was on the big side, his forehead a little too wide for true perfection.

Why then did she find gazing at Haldir infinitely more satisfying? As if his face were the answer to an age-old question? Corinne sighed. This was all too weird. Shouldn’t she be more upset? It wasn’t, after all, every day that you got sent to an alternate dimension—or wherever the hell she was—to fall in love-at-first-sight with an elf. Shouldn’t she be horrified, or frightened?

She bit her lip to stifle a laugh. Frightened? She’d never felt more safe in her life, and knew without a moment’s doubt or hesitation that he’d protect her with his life, and also that his brand of protection was fearsome indeed. If the way he’d aimed his bow at her earlier, without a bit of wavering, hadn’t clued her in then the vicious-looking daggers he’d unstrapped from his waist and the ease with which he handled them would have. This man—elf!—was a formidable warrior.

Corinne shivered a little at the memory of his big archer’s hands on her body, how firmly and yet carefully he’d touched her. Would they make love that night? She certainly hoped so. There was no doubt it would be mind-blowing. Her few previous experiences, mostly in her early college years, had been disappointing. Frat boys were not exactly known for their finesse at the romantic arts, relying more on the magic of beer than the magic of wooing to achieve their goals.

Haldir ladled stew into bowls for each of them, and sat nimbly on the ground beside her, spilling not a drop. In fact, the surface of the stew hadn’t even rippled, she thought enviously. She always spilled. “Thanks,” she told him with a smile, and accepted the spoon he handed to her. “What’s in it?”

He shrugged and dipped his own spoon in. “Venison, root vegetables, herbs. I ran out of salt last week and forgot to get more in my haste to return here.”

She took a bite. Even a little bland, it was delicious, and she said so. “Why were you in a rush to get back?”

He took his time answering, chewing and swallowing slowly. “I… was feeling somewhat restricted back in Caras Galadhon,” he said at last. “It is much freer here.” He scooped up another mouthful. “But it seems I shall be going back much sooner than I had anticipated.”

“Why?”

He smirked at her. “Because of you, of course. We must consult the Lady about your presence here.”

At first she was disappointed… didn’t he want to spend time with her alone? The idea of holing up with him in his treehouse for a few days at least was very, very appealing to her. But then her overbusy mind began piecing together the possibilities—she could meet other elves, begin learning their language, perhaps even get a glimpse into their books, if they had any. Would they permit her to hear their music? She had to get Haldir to describe their concept of religion. And aesthetics… from the look of his clothing and weapons, they were a people who believed in form as well as function.

“Oh, yay!” she said around a chunk of venison. “When can we go?” An entire city in the trees, what must the architecture be like? Was it different to the plain, serviceable treehouses—Haldir had called them flets—she saw here?

“We will go tomorrow,” he answered, grinning at her. Her eagerness to learn more was very amusing; never had he met a human more enamoured of educating herself. Most, he’d found in his few dealings with Man, were content with the little they knew and suspicious of learning more. Celeborn was going to adore her, he thought, for that elf-lord was ever despairing of locating someone with whom he could share his prodigious knowledge.

Yes, they would leave on the morrow, but what to do until then? In spite of the cauterizing passion they seemed to possess for each other, it was not truly a good idea to join so soon. Her presence here had to be explored, if not completely explained, and it was entirely too soon. Elves did not simply fling themselves into a relationship, be it friendship or love, nor did they indulge in quick, meaningless romps.

Not that what he had with Corinne was devoid of meaning. Elbereth, no. Even after a few mere hours, she had become a startlingly important part of him, and he knew that even if she disappeared at that moment, he would feel her loss for the rest of his years.

She put aside her empty bowl then, and glanced hopefully at him. He smiled. She was unsure what to do next. He could smell her desire for him, and felt his own answer it. No, a complete joining would be imprudent just now, but there was no reason Haldir could see that they could not find pleasure in less momentous ways.

But first, there was more to know. “Tell me about yourself,” he said, taking their bowls to the basin of water to wash them.

“I’m not sure what to say,” she replied, chin on her knees again. “I’m a graduate student—“ when she saw his lack of comprehension, she explained. “Many people where I’m from choose to study beyond what society requires of them, and study a variety of things for four years. Some of them want to learn even more than that, and take another three or so years to specialize in a certain area. We undertake a huge study project and present it to our teachers at the end of our coursework, basically becoming the world’s expert on whatever it is we’ve researched for those three years.”

She sighed. “I’m on my third year of coursework, and half-way through my dissertation—that’s the huge project—but I’ve reached an impasse.” Corinne grinned suddenly. “Or I had, at least, until this happened.”

Haldir tilted his head in curiosity. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the topic I’d chosen, mysticism in Hatshepsut’s reign in ancient Egypt, wasn’t going anywhere. There was no proof that it even existed, let alone that it worked. I begged my advisor for help, and he told me about this store where I could get this.” She dug in her pocket and extracted the cartouche. “I never thought it would actually work. Magic simply isn’t a part of life where I come from. But…”

She moved her gaze from the embossed gold to his face, and smiled. “But it’s a part of life here, isn’t it?” At his nod, she uncurled herself and stood, walking to him, and continued, “And it did actually work. Did everything the old guy said it would.”

“And what is that, doll-nîn?” Even with his hands in dirty dishwater he was perfection, and Corinne couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around him from behind, pressing her face between his shoulder blades. She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to.

“You must promise me, Corinne, that you will not venture from the flet without me,” Haldir said a little while later. She’d begged him to bring her to the river, and he’d watched with an indulgent smile as she removed her chunky sandals (quite the ugliest shoes he’d ever had the misfortune to clap eyes on) and stuck her feet in the chilly water. They’d stayed until twilight wrapped them in its cool blue shadows, and she declared her feet were frozen and they could return now.

“Why is that?” she asked, hardly able to see at all now that night had fallen in earnest. She slipped her hand into his so he could guide her in the dark, and when he squeezed it gently felt her entire body give a throb of longing.

“There are dangerous, evil things that would delight in slaughtering you,” he told her plainly. “You would have no chance against them, none at all.” He stopped and turned to her, watching the moonlight flow over her face. “Promise me you will not?”

Corinne stared at him a long moment. She didn’t like the idea of needing a babysitter, but he was so intent and serious about this… “Yes,” she said, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “I promise.”

Now that he was cheerful again, maybe he’d answer some of her questions.. she began peppering him with them as they walked through the meadows surrounding the Anduin back to Haldir’s flet, where they sat at the table and gazed at each other over the candle. He answered patiently for hours, stopping only when she demanded he begin to teach her Sindarin, right now.

“That is a job for Lord Celeborn, I think,” he said with a laugh, his throat hoarse from speaking so much. “We should sleep now, if we are to leave in the morning for Caras Galadhon.” He pulled her to her feet and began walking backwards toward the bed.

“Sleep?” Corinne asked, shooting him a naughty glance and even naughtier smile.

“Yes, sleep,” Haldir replied haughtily, staring down his nose at her. “The March-Warden commands it.”

“He does, huh?” she said, trying to make it seem indignant, but the huge yawn that followed rather spoiled the effect. Now that she’d stopped firing questions at him, her fatigue was swiftly catching up with her and she could barely keep her eyes open. “Well, he seems like a pretty smart guy, so, ok,” she agreed sleepily, and rested her head against his chest.

He smiled down at her, reluctant to release her form even for a moment, and so reached out to pull back the covers with one hand while the other held her. “Undress now,” he said at last, and without paying much attention she stepped out of her ugly shoes, pushed down her trousers, and pulled off her short tunic. “What on Arda is that?” he demanded, pointing to the contraption that clasped her breasts.

“Huh?” she asked, squinting up at him through the curtain of hair that had fallen over her face when she’d removed her shirt. Haldir was staring at her chest, or more accurately, at her bra. It was a very nice one, she thought—creamy-white satin with ribbon straps, the underwires making more of her charms than were actually there.

“Is it not… uncomfortable?”

“Hell, yes,” she replied cheerfully. “Women have to suffer to be beautiful, ya know.”

He just shot her a strange look and began to undress himself. Corinne leaned back on her elbows and surveyed the process. If she had thought any of those pretty-boy Calvin models she was always seeing on the ads plastered to the buses were hot, she was utterly, completely in error—Haldir of Lórien eclipsed them like the sun outshone the moon.

His ivory skin was taut over a smoothly sculpted musculature, and the elegant bones of his clavicles, hands, and pelvis looked as if they’d been carved by a master’s hand. His limbs were long and graceful, and the sweep of pale-gold hair against his shoulders made her ache to stroke him. Shadows cast by the room’s lone candle swept over his face, throwing it into high relief. In the near-dark, his eyes were the colour of pewter, and when he looked up to find her watching him with what had to be a world-class amount of lust, they deepened to midnight-black.

“Do you not want to take off that contraption?” he murmured, hands at the low-riding waist of his braies, drawing her attention to the ridges framing the fine line of silken hair arrowing down his abdomen.

Sitting up, Corinne reached behind and unhooked the bra, allowing the weight of her breasts to pull it from her shoulders before removing it entirely. Even her human hearing could detect the sound of his breath catching, and she saw the ripple of a tendon in his cheek as he clenched his teeth, fighting to keep control.

Then Haldir pushed his braies past his narrow hips and they pooled to the ground around his ankles, revealing the well-muscled legs that she had the sudden urge to lightly rake her fingernails down, that arrow of pale hair pulling her gaze inexorably toward the source of his lust. Surrounded by a halo of golden curls, it thrust proudly toward her even as he smiled a little sheepishly.

“It is just being optimistic,” he told her, and pulled the braies off his feet, hopping a little as he did. It was such a funny sight—the haughty Guardian and his package bobbing up and down as he undressed—that Corinne found herself laughing. Then he frowned at her, and she laughed harder. Before she knew it, he was laughing too.

She was glad for it—the tension had been building for a moment there, and she realized as she knew he had that it was not right yet for them to make love. This would help it be more bearable. Yay, she thought, not entirely happy about it, and scooted over to make room for him as he approached.

Haldir lay beside her and immediately pulled her to nestle against him, and they both sighed at the contact of skin against skin before he pulled the covers up over them.

“I’m suspicious,” Corinne mumbled against his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his skin against her lips. “This feels too good. There must be some sort of catch.”

“Perhaps,” Haldir replied, a note to his voice saying that he was actually somewhat serious. “I too worry about the consequences of such an odd occurrence. But I am willing to enjoy what is before us now, and accept what comes.” He shifted so he could look at her face. “Are you?”

Corinne smiled at him. “Haldir, I’m laying in bed naked with a man I only met a few hours ago. What do you think? Does it seem like I’m willing to take a risk?”

But Haldir only frowned. “You are in bed with a man?” he demanded. “Tell me his name, and I will slay him.”

She rolled her eyes. “All right, Mr. Pesty. You’re an elf, not a man. I get the point.” And she flicked her fingertip against a point—that of his closest ear. It made his breath catch and his hips undulated briefly against the lush cushion of her hip before he forcibly stilled. “Um, I won’t do that again,” she said, sorry she’d disturbed him when it seemed he’d been settling down.

He rolled to his side and pulled her tightly against him. “Only for a short while,” he muttered into her hair. “Later on, you may do that as much as you wish.” She made to speak, but he only pulled her face closer to his shoulder. “Sleep now,” he insisted, and who was she to argue with a naked elf?

*doll-nîn = my dusky one

Part 4

It was almost noon, and they hadn’t gotten far at all. Corinne wasn’t dressed for trekking through the woods, after all. She’d donned fashionable garments that displayed her charms to their fullest, thinking her longest walk would be from the subway station down the street to the pub, and on perfectly paved sidewalks, no less.

Haldir was beginning to get very cross, if the looks he was slanting her way were any indication.

“I didn’t know when I got dressed yesterday that I’d be going on a nature hike, you know,” she snapped after the tenth such glare he’d shot in her direction. “This outfit is perfectly acceptable for an evening of boozing downtown. If I’d known I’d end up slogging after the grumpiest elf in the entire universe I’d have dressed like Lara Croft.”

Haldir did not know of this Lara Croft, but assumed she was known for her practical attire, and moreover he was completely unperturbed by her insult. “I am not the grumpiest elf in the universe,” he informed her calmly. “That honour goes to Erestor. His ill humour puts mine to shame, truly.”

“Then I pity anyone who has to deal with Erestor for any length of time,” Corinne muttered, and tripped over a branch. She fell to her hands and knees, pain shooting up her thighs and wrists, and she knew her pants had torn. Standing, she wished with all her might she were back home in her dorm and could have a shower, a change of clothes, perhaps a mocha frappachino… leaning over to investigate her newly skinned knee, she felt an odd humming in her pocket, and stuck her hand in to investigate.

“Hm,” she said as she withdrew the cartouche. “Wonder what’s—“ But she fell silent when it began to glow brightly. “Uh-oh.”

Haldir’s eyes grew wide, and he threw up his hands to shield his sensitive elven eyes from the piercing light. “Corinne!” he exclaimed, but there was no answer, for when he lowered his arms again she was gone. There was no point searching for her, but he found his head whipping around, gazing frantically through the trees that sounded him.

An utterly foreign sense of panic gripped his chest, followed swiftly by a fury of impotence. That cartouche had taken her away as surely as it had brought her to him in the first place, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. Never had he thought that solitude could bring such pain, but even when he’d been annoyed at her these past few hours for slowing them down in her hideous shoes, he’d felt a completion he’d never even thought to dream of.

And now that she was gone, his chest felt as if it had been rent wide open, leaving a gaping wound. “Corinne,” he whispered, hanging his head.

Haldir allowed himself to mope for a while before straightening once more to his full, proud height. He was a Sindar, a Lórien elf, a march-warden. He had fought in the War of the Ring beside its hero, and was a friend of King Elessar himself. He was the Guardian of the Golden Wood, favoured by the most powerful and learned elves of Arda, and he would not be brought low by a predicament such as this. There must be a way to bring Corinne back.

With this resolution firmly in place in his mind, Haldir turned once more toward Caras Galadhon, able to jog at a quick and steady pace now that he was unencumbered by his little slave to fashion. He had to speak with Galadriel and Celeborn.

***

When Corinne opened her eyes again, it was as she expected: instead of tall, ancient trees and a tall, gorgeous elf, she saw short, ancient cement block walls painted an unsightly mushroom colour. Fake-wood-laminate furniture of the ‘industrial college’ type known and loathed by college students the world over squatted against various walls in the tiny bedroom. Her computer, which she had once more forgotten to shut down, hummed on the desk, its screensaver displaying the usual flying toasters.

She should have been happy to be home again, and free of the bizarre incidents of the previous day. Her dorm was perfectly normal, perfectly familiar. There was her massive pile of used-but-still-overpriced textbooks, there was the stack of notebooks in which she scribbled her copious notes in tiny, cramped handwriting. There was her mound of unwashed laundry, which she had vowed to take to the launderette this weekend, no more excuses.

But there was no Haldir, and so ‘happy’ was pretty much the last adjective that could be applied to Corinne. Glaring down at the cartouche in her hand, she flung it at the wall with such force that it rebounded with a sharp ‘ping’ and fell to the floor, out of sight.

What had happened? The last thing she remembered was falling over, and then thinking longingly about showers and Starbucks—mmm, chai—and then the cartouche had started to vibrate. “Oh, crap,” she muttered, figuring it out finally. “Stupid tricky thing.” She could apparently activate the cartouche simply by wishing for something, and if she touched it whilst it was activated, she would get her wish. “Have to be more careful from now on.”

What should she do? She slowly began to strip her ruined clothes off, pondering deeply. Here was her chance to pretend her trip to Lórien had never happened, that she’d never met Haldir. If she wanted, she could simply continue with her life as it had always been. A glance at her computer’s clock told her that she’d spent the same amount of time there as had passed here in New York—all she had to do was pretend to anyone who’d tried to contact her in the past day that she’d spent the day dealing with the mother of all hangovers.

But could she do that? Could she forget his kiss, his feel, his taste? Could she forget the experience of sleeping beside him, of waking wrapped in his arms, the warm sunlight dappling them through the leaves? She knew in her heart that it would be impossible. So, then, could she live with the memory, knowing that it could never be repeated? She wadded up her dirty clothes and tossed them into a corner. Just the idea of never touching him again, never feeling the silk of his hair or the satin of his skin against her fingertips made a hollow ache start in her belly.

Could she love him, already? It didn’t seem possible. But then she’d have never thought weird portals would suck her into an alternate dimension, either. Anything could happen, apparently. The only thing that was sure and definite to her was the insistent urge she felt to return to Haldir. It was desire for him, and curiosity about his history and his people, but also an eagerness to see what could happen. She didn’t think she would be able to live with herself if she didn’t investigate the mystery of the cartouche and why it had brought her to Haldir. She’d regret not following her heart for the rest of her life.

Corinne sighed, padding nude to the bathroom, and knew her decision was made. There was no question she’d go back, but first she had things to take care of. There were arrangements to be made with the university, so no one would think she’d been murdered when she wasn’t seen for a few weeks, and she had to pack…

But first, her shower, and then the largest iced cappuccino to be found in the entire Tri-State area.

A few hours later, a freshly-showered and trendily-dressed Corinne sat in the Starbucks on 8th Street, sucking down some frosty caffeine and checking items off a list scratched on the back of an envelope.

Item #1: her plants. Easy—she’d given them all away, stating she’d developed an allergy. The other grad students on her floor had been only too pleased to accept them. Maybe they’d even let her have them back, if she decided to return someday. She was very fond of her Wandering Jew.

Item #2: her friends and family. They all knew she’d been bucking for an assistantship in Cairo… she would tell them she had a preliminary orientation and would be abroad for a few weeks. Her parents would think she was insane to travel to the Middle East, but they’d always thought her weird to begin with, so it wouldn’t be too much of a shock.

Item #3: her fellow grad students. They’d be trickier… they wouldn’t buy some stupid story about Cairo. She’d have to tell them she was returning to Michigan to visit her parents for the remainder of the summer… that was believable.

Of course, she could just tell everyone the truth… she was leaving for an extended vacation to spend time with a guy she only just met, and oh yeah, he wasn’t even human. Corinne snorted into her iced cappuccino. That would go over well. Not.

Item #4: what to pack. She figured all her sturdiest clothes and shoes, of course, but she wasn’t exactly the outdoorsy type—she’d grown up outside Detroit and lived for the past eight years in Manhattan. The closest things she had to ‘sturdy clothes and shoes’ were her work-out gear and aerobics sneakers she used for the Tai-Bo classes she’s signed up for but never managed to attend. They’d just have to do, she guessed with a shrug.

And perhaps she should bring her nice outfits, too. It wouldn’t do for Haldir to think she only ever looked utilitarian. She had a great outfit she’d worn last year to the opera—Rigoletto at the Met, a wonderful night—and thought the black sheath with roses of gold and crimson beads would knock him on his fine elven butt. At least one bathing suit, and a few sweaters, in case it was cold at night… Oh, hell, she thought, pulling idly on her drink. Might as well just bring everything. And then she brightened. That was a great idea. That way, she wouldn’t have to worry about leaving something behind that she’d end up needing desperately.

Item #5: study tools. She fully intended to learn as much about elves as was humanly possible to cram into both her head and the newly-purchased notebooks which rested in a shopping bag at her feet. With them were two boxes of cheap pens in various colours, all the better to organize her notes.

A gurgling noise alerted Corinne to the fact that she’d sucked her cup dry. Standing, she stuffed the list into her pocketbook, grabbed her notebooks and pens, and strode out of the coffee shop to meet her destiny.

***

Haldir pushed himself hard, and in spite of his slow start with Corinne from the eastern marches, made it to Caras Galadhon in the normal amount of time. He ignored the glances he received from his fellow Galadhrim, surprised to see the Guardian so soon after departing for his post, and made directly for the talan of Celeborn and Galadriel.

“Mae govannan,” the Golden Lady said, answering his summons, her leisurely stroll in direct counterpoint to his brusque banging upon her door. Holding it open, she stepped back and bade him enter. “What can have our severe march-warden returning so early from the Great River?”

He shot her an amused look. “As if you are not already perfectly aware,” he muttered. “There has not been a secret kept from you in this wood for an age.”

“Longer than that, I would reckon,” said another voice from the room beyond, and Celeborn entered. “I have known Galadriel for over five thousand years, and never have I known her to be even mildly bemused by anything.” He shook his silvery head. “It is most disconcerting.”

Galadriel gifted her husband with a sweet smile that promised he would be very sorry later for his teasing—much to his delight—and motioned for Haldir to seat himself before taking up a slender ewer of wine and pouring three goblets-full. He sipped at the wine. As usual, it was exquisite.

“One of Thranduil’s?” he inquired of Celeborn, who was known for his expertise and knowledge of the best vintages. The Silver Lord nodded with a small smile, pleased his friend could recognize the wine’s origin. The three drank in silence a few moments, and Haldir felt some of the tension he’d harboured since Corinne’s disappearance melt away.

It was late afternoon in Lórien, and the fading sunlight fell golden and warm to dapple over them and dance in patterns over the floor of the elegant talan. The air was sweet and fresh, pleasantly moist, and scented with the perfume of the earth and tree-blossoms. Haldir drank the finest wine in Arda, and sat with his closest friends. It was serene, refreshing, and perfect. Haldir was miserable. “How much do you know of what has happened?” he asked at last.

“Only that you have spent the past day not guarding our borders, but dealing with an unexpected visitor,” Galadriel replied with a smile. “So, mellon, tell us more about her.”

“She is not beautiful,” he said plainly. “She is not tall, nor elegant. Her eyes are not like stars, and her hair is not raven, and not gold. There are no bells in her laugh, and she has not the wisdom of the Eldar.” Haldir sighed heavily. “But she is bright and eager to learn, and quick to laugh. She is a scholar, devoting her life to knowledge.” There was a note of pride in his voice that the others did not miss. “And how she looks at me…” His words trailed off as he stared at the wall, remembering how her eyes would glow with some unnamable emotion.

“How does she look at you?” Celeborn prompted gently.

Haldir dragged his attention back to them. “With love,” he whispered. “She does not realize it yet, I think. But she looks at me with love.”

Galadriel and Celeborn glanced at each other. Ever had it been with some of their kind; only a few moments were needed to see the beauty of another’s fëa, and come to cherish it. “She is mortal, is she not, Haldir?” Galadriel asked. “This worries us.”

“And me,” he conceded. “There is much that is unknown about how she came to be here, for she is not of Arda, nor even of Valinor.” He allowed a tiny smile. “In truth, I am not sure where she hails from. The institution of learning she attends is called Enwieyue, I believe.” He heaved a sigh. “And it would seem she has returned there, for we were on our way here to consult with you when she disappeared as suddenly as she came to me yesterday.”

“How is it she came to simply appear?” Celeborn wanted to know, his fair brow creased in confusion.

“She has a talisman of great power,” Haldir explained. “It is from an ancient culture in her lands, many thousands of years old. It gives one his heart’s greatest wish.”

“Her greatest wish was you?” Galadriel teased, smiling when her stern march-warden actually blushed a little and refused to meet her eyes.

“It was true love,” he muttered, embarrassed. “And… that also was my wish. I believe we were brought together because our desires were the same.”

“Then how is it that she is gone now?” Celeborn seemed to be stuck on the matter of traveling in such a manner, and had obviously set his prodigious brain to exploring the matter.

“She was not dressed appropriately for a trek through the woods, no, not at all. She has these unspeakably ugly shoes, and kept tripping…” Now Haldir was smiling. “We were arguing, and she fell. When she stood, the… cartouche, I believe she called it, began to glow, so brightly I could not watch without pain. When I could see again, she was gone. And I resumed my journey here.”

Haldir stared down at the table, peering at the half-full goblet in his hand. “What if she does not return?” He asked more to himself than to them, feeling despair creep into him, and clenched his fist around the goblet’s delicately wrought stem.

“Have you joined with her?” Galadriel asked with diplomatic care.

“No,” he replied shortly. “I did not think it wise, though it pained us much to refrain. But, no.”

“That is, perhaps, for the best,” she said, placing her hand on his forearm. “For whatever pain you feel now would be a thousandfold worse if you had, mellon-nîn.”

“I know this.” He tried to push down the anguish that was rising within him.

“I will meditate and see if there is aught I can learn of this,” Galadriel said after a few tense moments of silence. “For the Valar have not told me of aught concerning it.”

“And I will study the scrolls,” Celeborn offered. “There may be some hint of a remedy to this situation.”

“I thank you both,” Haldir said, rising and bowing formally, then following them out of the talan.

“The day is bright,” commented Galadriel as they made their way down the steps encircling the thick mallorn trunk.

“And growing brighter,” Celeborn added, squinting a little. Indeed, the sunlight shone fiercely this late spring day, and the small courtyard at the entrance to their talan was light up with a piercing, reddish glow. As they descended, it seemed to coalesce at a particular spot in the centre of the courtyard and Haldir caught his breath.

“She returns!” he murmured, and leapt lightly from the stairs to the ground below as elation replaced the sadness that had grown within his chest. He tried mightily not to look away, so he could see the moment she came back to him, but the light was too bright and pained him.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see her standing before him, her face both scared and hopeful. Did she doubt his joy to see her again? He felt almost insulted for a moment before remembering his own doubt she would return. Whatever was happening between them, it was still too new for them to have complete trust and faith in each other yet. They were still unsure, and indeed neither had ever uttered words of love or commitment to the other.

“Doll-nîn,” he murmured, and strode across the courtyard to her. Relief washed over her, and she visibly relaxed her stiff posture, taking a few hesitant steps in his direction.

“Haldir!” exclaimed the voice he had feared never to hear again, and even knowing he was making a spectacle of himself before his lord and lady, and all the rest of Caras Galadhon, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in her hair to hide the fact that he was smiling foolishly.

*doll-nîn = my dusky one

*Sonnet CXXX, by William Shakespeare

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.

Part 5

Corinne had felt a coldness grow in her the longer she was back in New York, as if there were a chunk of ice in her belly, and found her hands had started to shake as she packed for her return. She had bought the largest duffel she could find—it was the size of a body-bag—and filled it with all the things she didn’t think she could live without for any period of time. She’d also purchased a few gifts for him and the people he’d told her about, his brothers and his lord and lady.

Then Corinne did her hair and dressed carefully, knowing that Haldir’s last memory of her would be of her looking pretty grungy. She didn’t want him to be sorry when he saw her again. She fastened her hair up in tiny clips, and applied her makeup, and pulled on the light blue spaghetti-string tank top and oyster suede skirt before stepping into these awesome tan demi-boots she’d found at that discount store around the corner…

Enough of that, Corinne scolded herself. If what Haldir and Faltho had been wearing was any indication, there wasn’t going to be a lot of love shown her trendy wardrobe in any case. Grasping the strap of the huge duffel with one hand, she closed her eyes and focused on where she wanted to be.

Or rather, who she wanted to be with. Haldir’s face rose clearly in her mind’s eye, and like a slide show she could see him in varying poses: that cautious, alert look when he’d first aimed his bow at her; the expression of pleasure when she’d made love to his ear; his hair silvered by early moonlight as they walked from the river at dusk; even his scowl when they’d bickered just before she’d left.

“I want more than anything to be with my true love,” Corinne whispered, and the cartouche on the desk began to hum and glow. Relieved that it was working, she picked it up and closed her eyes against the corresponding intensification of brightness.

She first became aware of the faint, haunting strains of harp-music somewhere in the distance. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in a clearing surrounded by familiarly tall trees. There were a handful of elves all around her, and some in the middle of climbing down some stairs. And there, across the clearing from her, stood Haldir. He looked so distant and forbidding, so much like the warrior who’d trained his arrow between her eyes when she’d dropped so unexpectedly into her life, that she was daunted and found her feet rooted to the ground. Had he been glad that she’d gone? Would he be sorry she had come back?

Then he spoke, and it was the name he’d called her before—his dusky one. And she knew he was glad she’d returned to him, and couldn’t restrain herself from saying his name in relief. “Haldir,” she said, tasting it on her lips, and then he was holding her in the shelter of his arms. His arms locked around her like a vise and abruptly, the coldness within her thawed and the sense of panic she’d kept at bay dissolved completely. Turning her face against his neck, she breathed deeply of his scent and sighed, feeling the familiar weakness in her knees at his proximity. She never wanted to move—this was perfection.

“Ahem,” coughed a feminine voice near them, and she reluctantly cracked open one eye to see an ethereally lovely woman standing not far from them, clad in a white dress and with her hands folded patiently before her. Beside her was an amazingly gorgeous man, his hair almost matching the silvery tunic he wore. He was watching them with a wide smile.

Corinne pulled back a little so she could look up at him. “I missed you,” she whispered, nuzzling his chin with her forehead. He closed his eyes as if in pain and then moved his hands to her hips, shifting her back a pace.

“And I, you,” Haldir replied, his voice deep from emotion as he surveyed her with a cool gaze. “Is it the custom in your land to go about so scantily clad?” he asked, taking in her bare arms and shoulders, and the expanse of leg bare between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots.

Corinne looked down at herself, then at the women who stood watching. To a one, they were covered from throat to ankle, and if their arms were revealed, it was only to the elbow. “Um, yeah.” She was feeling kind of stupid now, and more than a little slutty, and was relieved when Haldir came closer to her. Even though they were not touching, his nearness soothed her.

“I like it,” he whispered, and she smiled up at him from beneath her lashes, suddenly glad she’d brought plenty of other skimpy clothes with her.

“Do not fret,” the closest woman said, and stepped forward with her hands extended. Corinne automatically placed her own in them, and felt a jolt of both power and affection at the touch. “We do not judge you for the manners of your home.”

“Thanks,” Corinne replied with a shy smile. “I’m Corinne.”

The woman inclined her head gracefully. “I am Galadriel, lady of this Wood, and my husband, Celeborn,” she looked to him, and smiled, “is its lord.”

“You are welcome,” Celeborn told her. “Haldir has told us much about you. Quite distraught was he when you disappeared so suddenly.”

“Yeah, about that,” Corinne said, and saw that Haldir was folding his arms over his chest in a now-familiar gesture of ‘ok, let’s hear this explanation’. “It seems we have to be very careful about this cartouche. Can’t want anything strongly, and then touch it, or you’ll be brought to where it is.”

The elves looked rather confused by her babbling statement. “I’m going to pack it away and not go near it,” she said at last, and they nodded.

“You will not leave me like that again,” Haldir informed her severely, frowning down at her.

“Ok,” she agreed cheerfully, and stretched up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his chin. He looked very uncomfortable with this public display of affection and Celeborn veiled a laugh behind his hand. Galadriel didn’t bother to hide her smile, however, and beamed at them.

“I see you have brought a sizable amount with you, Corinne,” Galadriel said, peered at the huge duffelbag with interest.

“I brought presents for you all,” Corinne replied, and went to the bag, not noticing their expressions of amazement when she unzipped it. “Haldir told me a little about you, so I’ve got books for Celeborn—“ she hauled a particularly large one out and handed it to him—“and I never met a woman who didn’t love chocolate, so—“ she held out a large, gold-foil box of Godiva to Galadriel, who took it cautiously.

“What is chocolate?” the elf-witch asked, turning the box over in her hands.

Corinne’s eyes grew comically wide. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” she said with a devilish grin, and took the box to untie the gold bow and pull off the lid. Inside were two dozen delectably dark confections. “Take one,” she urged the other three, “but be careful when you bite into them, they’re drippy.”

Eyeing her warily, they each took tentative bites. Celeborn chewed thoughtfully, as if he were cataloguing the experience in his mind; Galadriel’s lashes fluttered in bliss; and Haldir only stared at Corinne with a predatory expression that make her think about dribbling the liqueur from the cordials all over him and licking it off.

“Um,” she said haltingly, a little breathless as a current of awareness passed between them, and Haldir’s eyes darkened to onyx. “Don’t you think it’s time to show me where you live, Haldir?” To her way of thinking, Haldir’s talan equaled Haldir’s bed, and perhaps some steamy elf snoggings.

“Yes,” he replied instantly, and reached to grab the duffel’s handles.

Corinne’s internal shout of “yay!” was interrupted, however, when Galadriel said, “There is much to talk of; you cannot think of sequestering yourselves so soon after Corinne’s arrival?”

She heaved a huge sigh, only noting at the end of it that Haldir had heaved one of his own, and couldn’t keep from laughing. “We’ve got two weeks until I have to go back, so why not?” she asked happily, and took the arm Celeborn offered to lead her up into the talan he shared with his wife.

They chatted amiably for a few hours. The most Galadriel could tell without having a lengthy perusal of her mirror was that it would not be prudent for them to ‘join’, which Corinne assumed was the elven euphemism for sex. She felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment, and was unable to meet Haldir’s gaze, only nodding vigourously at the top of the table.

“I suspected you would advise that,” Haldir remarked, his voice both amused and a little bit frustrated. She knew how he felt, even as she couldn’t help thinking some chasm had opened between them—though he sat beside her, and often touched her hand or knee as if to reassure himself she was really there, she felt as if he was holding himself distant from her.

“I’m getting pretty tired,” she said when she could no longer bear wondering what was wrong. “Just point me to where I’m going to be staying.” She peeped at Haldir from beneath lowered lashes, not wanting to force herself into his home if he had changed his mind about her. Of course, if he had changed his mind, she’d just wish herself back to her dorm room. There was no way in hell she’d stay in Lórien with him so near, if he’d rejected her…

“Do you not wish to stay with me, doll-nîn?” Haldir asked her quietly, his handsome face expressionless.

“I… only if you want me to,” she answered miserably, staring down at her hands. “I don’t want to intrude.”

He startled Corinne with his laughter. “You have been naught but an intrusion since first we met,” he told her, grabbing her hands and hauling her to her feet. “I find I like your brand of intrusion.” And then he shocked the other three occupants of the room by winking at them, sweeping Corinne up into his arms, and walking out.

Corinne was by no means a lightweight but Haldir carried her effortlessly. The feel of his arms around her, his scent in her nose, and the silk of his hair brushing against her cheek would have made her swoon if she hadn’t already been supported entirely by him. She was a little baffled by this sudden change of attitude, however—he’d been so aloof throughout their discussion with Celeborn and Galadriel.

“Haldir, I’m confused again,” she said, her voice a little muffled as she’d pressed her nose against the smooth skin of his neck, all the better to inhale his luscious scent.

“About what, doll-nîn?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, and Corinne felt the familiar tremors begin in her belly. No, no, focus, she insisted to herself.

“You seemed happy to see me again, but then you seemed unhappy while we were at Galadriel’s, and now you seem happy again.” The light breeze blew a strand of his hair over her face and she brushed it away, toying with it before placing it carefully on his shoulder. “Are you bipolar or something? Because that would explain a lot.”

“Bipolar?” he repeated softly, and began climbing the steps to his talan.

“It means someone whose mood changes quickly, from one extreme to the other.”

Haldir gave it a moment’s thought. “No,” he replied at last. “I do not think I am this. Mostly, my mood is constant.”

“Constantly severe,” added a new voice, and Corinne lifted her head from where it rested against Haldir’s shoulder to see two pairs of bright silver eyes watching them with great interest. The elf on the left seemed to have been the one to speak. “Is she injured, Haldir? Or ill?”

“Speak up, brother,” admonished the other when Haldir said nothing. “We are concerned for the welfare of the woman who could make you show emotion in public. Such a prize must be guarded, for her worth is beyond mithril.”

Against her, Haldir sighed and slowly placed her back on the ground. “Corinne, these are my brothers, Rúmil,” he indicated the one on the left, “and Orophin.”

“it’s… er… nice to meet you,” Corinne told them, putting out her right hand for them to shake. Both seemed perplexed as to what they might do with her hand, so she reached out and clasped their hands in greeting.

“Aha,” said Rúmil. “Just so.” And he pumped her hand vigourously, and at length, until she gently disentangled herself. “So, you are Corinne.” His eyes flicked for the barest moment at her chest before returning to her face, and Corinne swore she could feel Haldir swell with anger. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, hand resting on his forearm, and squeezed reassuringly. Immediately, he resided, and she marveled at the power they seemed to have in comforting the other.

“I’ve heard my name has an… interesting meaning here,” she said lightly. “For your own health, how about we forget that?”

Orophin hid a laugh behind his hand; Rúmil simply nodded gravely and bit his lip. “Permit me to show you our talan?” he offered, and Corinne exchanged Haldir’s arm for his brother’s. The brothers’ home was nearly as grand as that of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien; it was spacious, with beautiful carving around the windows and doors, and furniture that was both graceful and comfortable-looking.

“Ooohh,” she murmured, and pulled away from Rúmil to sink onto a magnificent daybed. Each end sloped gently back, and the back of it was, instead of a flat panel, a series of intricately figured vines that curled and wove around each other as if alive. The mattress of it was simply divine, somehow managing to be both soft and firm at the same time. Corinne allowed herself to fall backward on it, and almost immediately felt as if someone had conked her on the head. “This thing is evil,” she muttered. “How are you supposed to stay awake?”

“You are not,” Haldir replied dryly, “for that is not the purpose of a bed, doll-nîn.”

“Just the one purpose, then, Haldir?” Corinne asked, propping herself up one elbow to look at him. He stood in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the frame as Orophin and Rúmil watched them with great interest.

“It would be best if you left us now,” Haldir said softly to his brothers. Rúmil opened his mouth as if to speak but seemed to change his mind and shut it with an audible click, and Orophin grabbed his arm and hauled him from the room. “So, you approve of my bed?”

“This is your bedroom?” Corinne asked, her voice a bit squeaky as her throat was suddenly quite dry. “Rúmil didn’t say…” Her words trailed off because Haldir had begun taking his clothes off. “…whose it was,” she finished in a whisper. “Oh, God.” She gaped stupidly at him as each inch of velvety skin was revealed, positive she was dribbling down her chin by the time he stood nude before her. Feeling weak as a tidal wave of sheer lust washed over her, she flopped back and stared at the ceiling. Oh, good, she thought when she realized there was carving there, too. Something to distract me so I don’t break the poor thing by raping him.

“Do you not wish to undress for sleep as well, Corinne?” Haldir asked. There was a hint of smugness to his tone, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and she felt a little surge of anger begin to replace the desire.

“I don’t like being teased,” she told him, eyes slitted. “Galadriel said we can’t do it, so don’t saunter around the place like Mister Gorgeous Sex God. And we haven’t spoken yet about why you keep running hot and cold on me.”

He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or confused. He seemed to figure out her meaning, however, because he said, “My emotions are very uneven since I met you yesterday. I am not accustomed to feeling so strongly, so quickly, about much of anything. Especially about loving. I am… inexperienced… in such matters.” Haldir gave a bark of laughter.

“I don’t know any more about it than you do,” Corinne conceded, and flung an arm over her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’m not used to it either, you know. Until yesterday, my life consisted of one thing: my studies. That’s all I wanted, all I needed. It was perfect. I had my studies, the undergrad class I taught, my dissertation, and once-a-month booze binges with the other lonely-hearts in the department. It wasn’t exciting, but it was satisfying, and it was my choice. My choices have been taken from me now, Haldir.”

“Mine as well… these emotions rage within me, and I cannot seem to rein them in.” Haldir seemed very displeased indeed at this.

“Me neither,” Corinne admitted. “It scares me a little. It’s all so foreign.” She turned her head to stare wearily at him. “Add to that you acting all pissy, and I just don’t know what to do.”

“Pissy is out-of-sorts?” he asked, and she nodded. His nudity seemingly forgotten (at least by him), Haldir came to sit on the edge of the divan beside her. “I do not mean to be…that,” he told her.

“Apology accepted,” she said sleepily, grinning when he frowned.

“I did not apologize,” Haldir grumbled.

“Don’t care,” Corinne replied. “Tired now.” She stood and wiggled out of her clothes and boots while he slipped under the covers. He tugged on her hand so she tumbled into the bed beside him. At the feel of his silken body against hers, each sighed deeply, and Corinne could feel the insistent press of his arousal against her. Immediately, her nipples peaked and a wave of heat roiled within her abdomen, moving swiftly down to centre between her legs.

“This is going to be impossible, isn’t it?” she asked, pillowing her face against the smooth cap of muscle on his shoulder. Her hand was wandering all over his chest entirely against her brain’s will, and she couldn’t seem to stop rubbing her leg up and down his. For his part, Haldir was stroking her hair and caressing her arm, her thigh, anywhere he could reach while thrusting his erection in little circles against the soft flesh of her belly and hip. It would take entirely too little effort to roll to her back, for Haldir to cover her with his body, for her legs to slide part and around him as he pushed inside her…

“Maybe we shouldn’t sleep in the same bed,” Corinne gasped, her hands flexing convulsively on him as lust swept through her. She looked up at him, and was undone by the fierce gleam of desire in his eyes. “Haldir…”

He growled, the sound doing devastating things to her fragile thread of control, and captured her mouth with his. Corinne moaned in relief, kissing him back with furor, hands everywhere at once. His were busy as well; he palmed her breast, hefting its weight in his hand as talented fingers worried the nipple. She pushed one of her legs between his, and curled the other around his hip, the better to press her aching centre against his long, lean thigh.

“Elbereth,” Haldir gasped when he realized what that wet heat was on his skin. “Perhaps you are correct,” he said, trailing his mouth down her throat and chest to take her nipple between his teeth, nibbling gently and then not-too-gently. Corinne threaded her fingers in his cornsilk hair and undulated against him.

“No,” she moaned. “I was delusional. Ignore what I said, just don’t stop doing… oh, God… that.” The pleasure of his hands and mouth, and her movements against him, had begun to spiral tighter within her, and she reached down to clasp his buttock and pull him closer. The feel of the firm, springy flesh in her hand was her undoing, and with a shout she came, flinging her head back as sensation burst through her, great waves of it, over and over. “Haldir… I love you!” she cried, unable to stifle the words that had been on the tip of her tongue since the moment they’d met.

Haldir went very still. A female had never said those words to him; the closest any had come to it was Buffy, asking why she did not love him. He felt his control rapidly evaporating and knew that if he didn’t get away from Corinne he was going to take her, over and over, all night long. It is not real, he admonished himself even as joy swelled within him. She does not mean it. The thought allowed him to regain a measure of restraint and he gently disentangled himself from her.

“You’re leaving?” she croaked, her voice husky from having shouted so loudly. “You’re leaving me?”

“Never leaving you,” he murmured. “Never. But if I remain here tonight…” Haldir left the sentence unfinished; there was no need to complete it. “Can you not see how my hands are shaking?” He held them out, and indeed there was a fine tremor to them. He dug through a chest and came up with a robe of fine linen in pale grey. “You may sleep here; Rúmil can share with Orophin and I will take his bed.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead and strode from the room before the sight of her, sprawled over his bed, limbs dewy with perspiration from coming so hard, undid his resolve. He drew on the robe as he went, and it fluttered like a banner behind him, revealing his randy profile.

Her feeling of repletion was marred a little by his absence, but fatigue was catching up with a vengeance. Corinne curled up in the hollow his body had made in the mattress and soaked up the faint heat and scent he’d left. Sleep came quickly.

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